


How the Potters Got Their Dog

by RuinsPlume



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (no pain or humiliation), Anal Sex, Bisexual Character, Collars, Desi Character, Dirty Talk, Edgeplay, F/M, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Multi, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-07 01:57:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16399223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuinsPlume/pseuds/RuinsPlume
Summary: Every family needs a dog, and the Potters are no exception.





	How the Potters Got Their Dog

It’s easy to tell when Sirius is getting close. He’s always vocal, but near the end his low grunts of pleasure turn to whines. Then, just before he loses it completely, his hands clench, those long elegant fingers trembling as they grip the bed sheets—or the table’s edge, or the back of the sofa as the case may be. If he’s cuffed, his hands grip nothing but themselves, knuckles whitening as his fingers press in against his palms.

But today it's the sheets. His fists close around our pale blue wedding set as he cants his hips, thrusting into James’s hand and spreading his legs wider in the hope that James will relent and let him tip over, will play with his hole and wank him faster until he spunks so hard it hits his chin. 

“No, Pads.” James lets go of Sirius’s cock completely. 

Sirius nearly howls in frustration, his whole body quivering in a way that reminds me of nothing so much as Padfoot in the moment after the stick has been thrown but before he’s been given leave to chase it. 

“You come when we say so,” I remind him, leaning back in my armchair and ignoring Sirius’s mouthy response. When it comes to trying to get away with what he knows he shouldn’t, our boy is entirely predictable.

Sirius puts on his best puppy-dog face and turns to James. “Kiss me,” he pleads. James pretends to think it over, running his hand over his own cock, gazing down at his fine self and then gazing abstractedly at Sirius as if he doesn’t quite remember who he is. 

And people say _Sirius_ is a tease. 

“Kiss our pup,” I urge. We can’t hold his lead _too_ tightly and besides, I love to watch them kiss. Now that James is used to the idea—that it’s allowed, that his wife doesn’t mind (rather an understatement, that)—he loves kissing Sirius, and he does it the way he does everything he loves; like a beast, with the power and focus and surprising delicacy of a beast intent on its prize. He drops down on his hands and knees over Sirius, keeping his body well away from Sirius’s cock and inclining his head until their lips just touch. James nibbles a kiss, and Sirius lifts his head for more and harder. Their mouths mash. A tremor goes through James, and he presses deeper into the kiss, pressing Sirius’s head back against the mattress. Sirius takes James’s lower lip gently between his teeth, holds him there until James makes the soft sound I love. 

Sirius begins running his hands up and down James’s sides, squeezing his hips. I think I know what Sirius is up to, but I don’t stop him because watching them snog makes me so wet I’m leaking. I slip my fingers in my knickers, get them slick between my lips and roll my clit. Sirius is gripping James’s hips so hard that a vein on the back of his pale hand stands out. The thought that his fingers might leave marks on James’s skin makes me want to put a few marks of my own on Sirius; I want to suck on his neck and mess up that pretty, pretty skin. 

James and I are both good and distracted by Sirius’s incomparable blend of sex appeal and talented tongue, when Sirius makes his move, which was surely his plan all along. Quick as a snake, he wraps his arms and legs all the way around James and pulls him down on top of him, working his hips against James's in a bid to get off.

James, that berk, lets him do it. He falls on top of Sirius and begins fucking himself against him, their cocks mashed between their bodies. Sirius mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “Come on me, Prongsy.”

It’s bloody hard to resist Sirius Black begging you to spunk on him. Much straighter men than James have caved, if you believe everything Remus has to say on the subject, and I do. So I give a whistle, one quick sharp note that makes both their heads snap toward mine.

“Padfoot, _no_ ,” I say, as sternly as I can given I’ve still got my hand in my pants. With my free hand I quick grab the jar of lube on the bedside table and toss it at James, who has no choice but to catch it or be hit with it. Like the Quidditch star he is, he catches it midair.

“Sirius,” I say, taking my hand out of my knickers for emphasis. “If you can be good just a little longer, I'll let Prongs fuck you.” 

Sirius glares at me, but I’ve won this round. He disentangles his legs from James’s waist and James gets up on his knees again. He unscrews the jar and scoops out two fingerfuls of cock butter. He slathers his shaft until it gleams like polished mahogany, the knob a dark rose-brown, the shaft a—fuck, I have to catch my breath because I want it for myself. But not just yet. I’ll get mine, all right—several times over from both of them. But there’s an order to this, a pattern, a dance step that works best when we all play our parts. James is whispering to Sirius now, low in his ear, little nothings that mean everything when that rich, sweet voice of his makes every hair on your body shiver with pleasure. I know just how the timbre of his voice feels against Sirius’s ear, how it feels when James puts his warm fingers right where you want them to go. When he touches you just the way you’ve taught him, and you only had to tell him once for him to remember forever. He’s touching Sirius that way now. Sirius has spread his legs wide and James is rubbing his shining cockhead against Sirius’s arsehole whilst his other hand curls around Sirius’s prick. He pulls him so slowly, a sweet torture that makes Sirius throw his head back against the pillow, moaning and then gripping fistfuls of blue cotton in his hands—he’s back on the edge again. 

I open my mouth to warn James, but James has already seen it. He pauses in his stroke, and then, watching Sirius, he takes his hand away completely. Again. 

“Fuck, no.” Sirius struggles to sit up, reaching for his cock as he does, but James is too fast for him. He murmurs a wandless _Panch Koti Nigraha_ and Sirius is suddenly spread-eagled flat on his back in invisible five-point restraints, his whole body trembling and his cock flushed and swollen against his pale belly. 

“Fucking hell, Prongs.” Sirius glares at James, muttering something about the unfairness of using wandless Gujarati magic. 

James smirks in response, murmuring another Sanskrit spell that appears to tighten the invisible cords. Sirius flaps his bound hands ineffectually against the mattress but manages to turn his head enough to look at me. 

“Come on, Lils. Let me come. Please, I’m so close.” 

This is true. His whole body’s trembling in the five-point restraint; if he could, he’d give himself a few quick jerks and be spunking all over his stomach—and then furious a moment later, at himself, and at us, for letting him get away with that. 

“Lily,” he wheedles. “I’ll eat you out all night if you just let me finish now. Prongs here, his tongue wears out after just ten minutes. But you know me, I can—”

“Fuck off, mate,” James puts in cheerfully.

“—I can go all night. Just let me come. Please, Lils.”

“Ooh, playing us off against each other?” I suck my teeth in disapproval. “Bad dog, Padfoot. And here I thought you were going to be good.” 

“I can’t,” Sirius says, the stubbornness rising in his gaze like whisky poured into a glass, clouding his eyes as he sets his jaw. 

“I know this is hard for you,” James says more gently, with almost no tease in his voice. He brushes the tip of his slickened cock tenderly over Sirius’s bollocks, then shifts a bit and slaps his dick against Sirius’s thigh. James isn’t falling for any of Sirius’s bullshit either.

It doesn’t stop Sirius from trying, though. I can see the moment he decides to switch tactics, the way his dilated eyes narrow. He blinks, then looks up at James with an only slightly threadbare version of his sexiest bedroom gaze. “Just fuck me then, Prongsy,” he says, his voice turned honey-slow. “Take the bondage spell off and my ankles will be right over your shoulders. I won’t touch my cock. Just fuck me.” 

“Take off the bonds? Really, now?” James still isn’t buying. His voice drips with posh restraint and for a moment, I feel like hexing him myself. 

“I’ll make it so good for you, Prongs. You know you love my arse.”

James and I exchange a look. For all Sirius’s promises, we know the steely glint in his eyes, know he’d go straight for his cock if James dropped the bondage spell. 

“Sirius,” I cut in, “Look at me.” 

Both boys dart their eyes toward mine, and the combined swerve of their gazes sends a rush of pleasure through my blood. 

“You _want_ to be good for us,” I remind him. It’s not a question. 

Sirius blinks, then holds my gaze the way I’ve seen Padfoot hold a stick in his mouth when he wants me to grab onto the other end and tug. Just so he can hold it even tighter, just to make the person at the other end prove they won’t let go. 

“And you will be good,” I say. I reach out and squeeze his hand. “For us. Because you want to be our good dog.” With my other hand I begin a series of slow, lazy circles over his belly, letting my knuckles brush the undersides of his ribs, my fingers stroking into the dimple of his navel. 

Sirius shivers and I feel his magic ripple into mine, kissing all over my body.

“Think how good you’ll feel if you can wait,” I croon. I let my fingernails scrape lightly into his pubes. “Padfoot. You’re our good dog. Our best dog. Now show us you know it’s true.” I fasten my eyes on his. “I know how much you want to come. Look how hard your cock is, all neglected like that. You’re leaking, can you feel it?” I touch my finger to the tip of his shaft, light as breath, and a whine slides from Sirius’s throat. I lick my finger, tasting him, holding his gaze. 

“You need to show us you can wait,” I say again.

Sirius looks like he’s not sure whether to cry or come untouched. His mouth trembles, his eyes squeezing shut as a deep, shuddering gasp escapes his chest. 

“I can’t,” he says.

James and I exchange a look. 

“You will,” I tell him. “And you’re going to do it without the bondage spell.” 

Sirius moans, his cock leaking a fresh pulse of precome over his belly. “Fuck,” he whispers, turning his face away. “I can’t. I can’t.”

“You can. James is going to take the bondage spell off and you are not going to touch yourself. We want you to try for us.”

A shiver goes through his entire body, and for a moment I’m afraid I’ve pushed too hard, that Sirius is going to shift to Padfoot, his signal that we need to end the scene. 

But he doesn’t shift. The trembling subsides and he opens his eyes and focuses, sees that I’m right there beside him, holding his gaze. 

“We’ll help you,” I tell him. “We’ll hold your hands.”

Sirius draws a shuddering breath and nods. 

“You’re our good dog,” James says. “We know you are.” 

*

If you’d told me five months earlier that we’d have Sirius sprawled across our marriage bed, begging us both to let him come, I’d have asked you what you were smoking and where I could get a bag. 

Five months ago I was the newly-minted Mrs Potter and James and I were moving into our own little cottage straight away after our honeymoon. It was lovely, with a proper oven, window boxes, room for us to put a real dining table, a wedding gift from James’s parents. That night there were five of us seated around it—the Marauders, of course and then me, feeling a bit on display. James was swanning around like a lord, showing off the oven, the view of St Jerome’s, my hi-fi, showing off me—me with my tiny gold ring that beneath their gazes looked enormous on my finger, shining brighter than the candles it seemed to me, and everyone staring at it and pretending not to. The five of us shared takeaway at the table and then sat around on the sofa drinking bottled beer. Eventually James and I wanted to go to bed and christen our new mattress. Peter and Remus got the hint—it was hard to miss it, what with James pulling me down from my perch on the arm of the sofa and snogging me in front of all of them. Remus went into a shuffling “look at the time” routine and Peter began stomping about saying “where’s my cloak got to.” But Sirius—I swear on Merlin’s wand—sat down practically in James’s lap, all but shoving me off my own sofa. Remus pulled him out of there, shot me a look that might have been apology, and the three of them left. James and I went to bed. 

Two hours later, I woke out of a deliciously heavy sleep, the kind you fall into when you’ve had a few pints and a lovely shag. Someone was shouting outside our window. A drunk who’d lost his way home from the pub, I thought, and “yes, we’re living out in the real world now, this is what it’s like” and I put the pillow over my head. But then something banged against our window. I ripped the pillow off again and heard Sirius, the posh accent he tries to hide now vivid and sloppy with drinking. He was hurling an empty beer can against our bedroom window and shouting for James. 

James sleeps like the dead. I shoved him awake, thinking he’d stick his head out the window and hex some sense into Sirius, or at least shut him up with a good _Mutus Totalis._ Instead, James got up and put on his robe and went down the hall and let Sirius in. Sirius had woken the neighbors by this point, and someone was shouting about calling the Aurors. I listened to their voices rise and fall in the living room, Sirius all drunken agitation, James groggy reassurance. James didn’t come back and I fell into a restless sleep. 

In the morning Sirius was gone and James was passed out on the sofa. Around noon, the flowers began arriving—roses in all colours, daisies, snapdragons, gladiolus, a dozen stalks of hollyhocks taller than my head. The place looked like a florist’s by mid-afternoon. No lilies, I noticed but did not say. Yet even before the owl arrived with the note— _I’m sorry Prongs, please forgive me_ it was clear that the apology was meant for James, not me. 

James thought everything would be fine once Sirius got used to the idea that we were married. It was not fine. Two weeks later Sirius showed up drunk at our flat in the middle of the night again. 

Earlier in the day, we’d all been together for a very sombre meeting in Dumbledore’s office. Alice and Frank were there too, married just a few weeks, and I remember looking around the room and realising how grown up we had become. Everyone but Sirius, it seemed, who was sitting with his legs splayed out in front of him and his eyes hidden behind a curtain of hair, looking for all the world like a truant schoolboy. And here Dumbledore was asking us to become spies, soldiers; was asking us to become grownups in a way very different from how we had, up until that moment, understood the term. Yet Sirius was the first to say, Of course. And then all of us: Of course. 

We’d meant to go for a pint after, but Peter buggered off before we could even decide where, and then while we were still dicking around in the corridor, Dumbledore stuck his head out and called James back inside. Then Remus said he was going home because his joints ached, and Sirius said he’d go along as well. Frank and Alice went home too and I went back to the flat alone. An hour later I was getting our tea and the owl came in with a note saying not to expect James until late. 

Fear makes me hungry. The longer James stayed away the hungrier I got, until the sweet idea of keeping his half of the stew under a warming charm began to seem macabre. I felt as if he’d never return to eat it, and that the only way I could ensure his safety was to eat his tea as well as mine. That way he’d be sure to come back, and then we’d get takeaway from the all-night chip shop and eat it in bed.

I must have fallen asleep on the sofa. When I woke the fireplace was cold and someone was banging on the door. 

I stumbled over and threw it open, not even checking, because it _had_ to be James. But it was Sirius. He was alone, his face flushed with whisky. 

“Where is he,” I said. “Tell me he’s okay.” 

“You can’t fool me, Evans.” Sirius shook me off and came all the way into the room. “Where’d you lock Prongs?” He pushed past me and stumbled down the hall to the bedroom. “You’ve got him tied up in there?” he growled over his shoulder. 

“He’s not here,” I said, “and you can’t just swan in at five in the morning like you bloody—”

Sirius whirled on me. “Prongs would never miss a transformation,” he shouted, but it wasn’t a very loud shout because he was almost sobbing. “Never.” 

In my preoccupation with the Dumbledore meeting, I’d forgotten about the full moon, but Sirius was right--James never missed. I stared at Sirius, the reality of what that might mean taking root in my belly. Sirius’s hair was as wild as James’s, his face flushed and his lithe body taut with outrage. He wiped his nose roughly on his sleeve and glared at me. “He’s never missed. Not fucking once.” 

“Sirius, I haven’t seen him since we were all in Dumbledore’s office. Dumbledore must’ve sent him to—I don’t know, but he said he’d be late, and he’s fine, he must be—”

“Where IS he?” Sirius howled again, looking wildly around the room as if he truly believed I’d lock James up to keep him home. “You got an oubliette here in Godric’s Hollow? Well, give me the fucking keys to it, then.”

For a fleeting moment I wondered if I was dreaming. Sirius Black standing in my bedroom accusing me of locking James in an oubliette—it was all macabre and surreal and somehow terribly childish. Like this ridiculous Order of the Phoenix Dumbledore had invented, like the spectre of a Dark wizard who might attempt to kill us all. Even the bedroom we stood in seemed suddenly off, its existence a practical joke that had got out of hand; for a moment, my marriage seemed the same way. 

“Where is he, Evans? What the hell have you done with him? PRONGS!”

Sirius Black gone round the twist and all I could do was meet him in the midst of his madness: I slid my wand free of my shirtsleeve and hexed him. 

Full Body Bind, with a Muting spell on top, and then Sirius lay flat on his back on the floor. He stared up at me, his mouth opening and closing in vain, his eyes wide and his face gone pale. I cast a sobering charm on him, hard, not caring if it hurt. 

Then I stood over him and tried to bind myself to the thin thread of reality I knew I still had hold of. 

“James isn’t _here_ ,” I said. I spoke very slowly, because now that Sirius had been silenced, I had all the time in the world. “Dumbledore sent him on an errand. I got an owl saying not to expect him until late, and you know what, you arsehole? I was _asleep_ , which means I wasn’t lying awake worrying about whether he’s dead in a ditch somewhere. But now _you_ have woken me up, so _you_ are going to lie awake and worry about him right where you are on my bedroom floor whilst I go to bed. And if you _ever_ come round again like this, Sirius Black, drunk off your arse and out of your head and accusing me of bullshit, I will hex your bollocks so far down your throat you’ll think they’re your tonsils, and then I will put on my hobnailed boots and kick your sorry arse right to the kerb.”

I turned away and stormed over to the bed. Got in it and lay there, fuming and pretending to be asleep. 

I lasted an hour. When the light in the room had shifted all the way to dawn, I blinked my burning eyes and got up again. I had to pee and James still wasn’t home. 

On the floor where Sirius had dropped lay Padfoot, still bound in the ropes of the spell. For a moment I was blindingly furious. It was a dirty move, making me feel like I’d tied up a dog. But then I saw how loose the ropes were. I’d bound them to Sirius, not Padfoot, and now they hung in wide useless coils around the dog’s smaller frame. Padfoot’s lean body and bony limbs could have easily slipped free. But instead he had lain there draped in my hex, his dark eyes watching me, his head on his paws. 

I sank down on the floor beside him, all the fight gone out of me. 

“James still isn’t home,” I said. Speaking it aloud made everything I was afraid of feel true. Padfoot whimpered. I needed something, anything, to do with my hands, my skittering heart. A cigarette, a drink. But I felt frozen on the floor. Padfoot raised his head and looked at me and when he lowered it, his head was in my lap. My hand came out and rested on that dark, silky head. His tail thumped twice, three times, and then he was still again. I forgot about needing to pee and leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes. 

We sat like that for a long time, keeping vigil over James’ absence. Once or twice I drifted off, only to startle awake again, my chest hammering with anxiety, my fingers tight in the dog’s fur. Padfoot huffed a sigh, butted my leg with his nose, and waited beside me. 

Another hour went by. Padfoot managed to get not only his head but both forepaws and the upper part of his chest into my lap. He was warm in the cold room and I let my hand rest heavily on his ribcage, watched it rise and fall with his breaths and felt his heart thudding against my leg. “I really have to pee,” I said at last, though I didn’t want to move. Padfoot got off me at once, standing up in that ungainly way big dogs have about them. The ropes of my hex fell heavily to the floor. He looked up at me, his dog eyes sad and dark and hopeful of something. All at once I understood. 

“Sit,” I said. 

He did. 

“Stay,” I told him. “Right there.” 

He thumped his tail twice on the floor and stayed still. I peed and brushed my teeth. It was nearly seven in the morning. I drank a glass of water from a tea mug James had left in the bathroom the day before, the last dregs at the bottom of the cup turning the water bright and faintly bitter. 

I refilled the mug and went back to the bedroom.

Sobering charms always make me thirsty, and I’d cast a mean one on Sirius. “You want a drink of water?” I asked him.

Tail thumping, many times. 

I held out the mug, watching his long tongue dip inside the ceramic rim. Where James’s mouth had drunk his tea, and then I had drunk my tap water, and now Padfoot was drinking, the black lips of his muzzle beaded with droplets. 

“Good dog,” I said automatically. Padfoot—yet somehow it was Sirius I saw—wagged his tail so hard he trembled. 

I sat down again beside him on the floor and we resumed our vigil. At some point I realised I was stroking the back of Padfoot’s head. I stopped—I didn’t want Sirius to think I’d forgiven him, even if I had. But I kept my hand there, on the scruff of his neck, and began feeling for his collar. He hadn’t one. I dug around a little more—he had a lot of hair—but there was no collar, and no sign of one either, no shorter band of fur where the leather would have rubbed. How could the others have neglected to give him a collar? He was _theirs_. But I realised the answer even as the question formed in my mind. The other three, stag, wolf, and rat, were wild animals. To them a collar would have meant imprisonment, a cage. But to a dog, a collar meant family. Worthiness. Belonging.

That was the moment I understood. James had gone and belonged himself to me, leaving Padfoot—in Sirius’s body, if you like—uncollared and not even missed by the rest of his pack. Left him to stand in the street howling under our window, begging to be let back in. 

Sirius didn’t want to be our guest, a bloke who comes over to share a few pints and take-away and then goes home again. James _was_ his home, had been ever since that summer the Potters took him in after his own parents disowned him, and now James had made a pack without Sirius in it. Sent him off to live with Remus, as if, just because Sirius loved them both, James and Remus were somehow interchangeable. In that terrible grey morning in the bedroom without James in it, I felt with every cell of my magic how wrong it was. 

I realised I’d begun stroking Padfoot’s head again, and this time I let myself do it, my hand roaming over the elegant planes of his skull, finding a spot behind his ear that made his tail thump loudly against the floor when I skritched it. I let my hand move down over his big, furry shoulders to his upper back, rested it where I could feel his heartbeat. My own heart did not slow its anxious pounding, yet I felt better with the dog’s heart thumping under my palm, keeping pace beside mine so that I did not have to make this fearful journey all alone. 

Padfoot heard it before I did. Every muscle in his body tensed and he began to bark wildly, straining against my hand still gripping his fur. 

“Quiet,” I snapped, not understanding and then understanding all at once: his dog ears had picked up James’s step on the street. James was home. 

Padfoot kept barking. 

“Padfoot.” I pulled my wand in warning. “ _Quiet_ , I said.” If Sirius was going to be a dog with me, he was bloody well going be a trained one. 

He cut off mid-bark, made a strangled sound and fell silent. And now I heard it too, James’s tread on the front steps, bounding up as if he hadn’t been awake all night doing God only knew what. And then, thank Merlin, the metallic rattle of his key, which always got stuck in the lock. 

“Sit,” I commanded. 

Padfoot did. 

“I’m going to open the door,” I said, “and you will sit and stay.” If we were ever going to make peace after the way he’d treated me, it was going to be on my terms. I left him there in our bedroom, his haunches trembling, his mouth troubled by the low whine of a barely-suppressed urge to resume barking. I went down the hall, all the fear and anger of the night coming off me in huge gusts of energy until I flung open the door and there was James, utterly unharmed. He let go of the stuck key and ran his fingers through his hair, grinning down at me as if everything was normal. 

Because of course it was. This _was_ normal now, I realised. All of it. 

I didn’t need to know where he’d been or what done what he’d done when he got there. All I needed was his arms around me and his heartbeat slow against my ear. I needed his breath in my hair and his mouth on my mouth. I needed my fists in his shirt and hard on his arms and my head on his chest again. 

“Miss me much, _jaanu_?” he asked. Grinning like a boy. 

From the bedroom came a single, strangled-sounding yip. 

James let go of me. “Padfoot’s here?” he asked, and the expression on his face, wary where there should have been happiness, broke my heart a little. I didn’t marry a man who had to be wary of his best friends. 

“Go to him,” I said. 

James looked at me curiously. Another choked-off yip from the bedroom. 

“He’s doing his best to behave,” I said, “but he needs help.” And then, lest James misunderstand the kind of help I had in mind, I added, “I’ll cast a silencing charm.”

James gave me a long look that was interrupted by a full-throated bark. Then he went, closing the bedroom door behind him.

I cast the charm and fell asleep on the sofa. 

When I woke again it was late; the sun in the windows said nearly noon. Someone was banging around in the kitchen and from the bedroom I could hear James snoring. Sirius came in with a plate of eggs in his hand and sat on the sofa. He had the radiant, golden glimmer of the well-shagged about him, and his eyes, though darkened below with purple smudges of exhaustion, were calm. 

He held out the eggs for me, ducking his head and looking up at me through his lashes, as if I’d fall for that. 

I poked him with my toe. “I’m not a fifth year,” I told him. 

“It didn’t even work on you then,” Sirius had the sense to say, and righting his head he gave me a grin I’d never seen offered to anyone but the Marauders. 

I took a bite of the eggs. They were decent, which surprised me. 

“Thank you,” he said, looking shy. He was fiddling with a loose thread on the blanket I’d spread over me. And then, raising his head a little defiantly, he said, “It wasn’t the sex, you know.” 

“You mean it wasn’t the sex _entirely_ ,” I corrected. “You’ve clearly had some.” But I wasn’t angry anymore, and I knew that he—or at least Padfoot—sensed this. 

More fiddling with the blanket thread. Nervousness, yet in Sirius’s fingers the fidget managed to look vaguely suggestive. Then: “Lily. Do you—do you mind?” He asked it so softly, his eyes on his hands.

“I never minded,” I said. “Not even at Hogwarts. I didn’t tell James to stop messing about with you, you know. Once we got engaged, he thought he should.” 

Sirius nodded, his mouth gone miserable. 

“I never minded,” I repeated. “But Sirius—I’m here to stay.”

He raised his head and looked at me. _I’m here to stay, too,_ I could tell he wanted to say, but didn’t. He couldn’t. There was no one to back him up, no one to agree he had a right to those words. I had the ring on my finger, the new last name, the marriage bed. Whereas Sirius had... what, in the eyes of the world? A trunk full of boyhood adventures? A long-standing pash on his best mate from school? 

That was the moment I decided. 

“When I was a child,” I said carefully, “I always wanted a dog.” 

I swear I felt Padfoot’s ears prick up in response, a little upward eddy in Sirius’s magic. 

“But my sister was afraid of dogs,” I continued, “so we never got one.” 

He was fairly quivering, the animagus magic sending vibrations through the air that I can only describe as the wavelength _please_.

“Do you think you can be a good dog?” I asked. 

And Sirius—hungover, hurting, impossible; impossibly loyal, nightmare and beautiful dream all at once—Sirius opened his mouth to lie and say _of course I can,_ and checked himself. That was how badly he wanted it, badly enough to bare the truth, which I knew without being told was simply: _No, I don’t think I can. But I do want to be._

He looked at me, his mouth hanging open. “Lily,” he said, finally. “Lily, I—” he lifted his hand toward mine, dropped it again. It didn’t matter what he said, I realised; I had already decided. We would do this. All three of us.

“I think every family needs a dog,” I told him, and then suddenly I had one, eleven stone of wolfhound landing hard in my lap and sending my plate of half-eaten eggs flying across the room. 

*

 _“Finite Incantatum,”_ James murmurs, leaning over Sirius on the bed and teasing Sirius’s hole with the tip of his finger. The bondage spell dissolves and of course Sirius, being Sirius, immediately reaches for his cock, but James and I each catch one of his hands, entwining our fingers through his. 

Sirius lets out a sigh of relief at being touched, even if it’s only a handhold. We grip his hands and I feel his body relax a bit, the combativeness in his gaze replaced by something softer; relief, perhaps, that we’re going to continue to restrain him. 

“I can wait if you help me,” he says after a moment, his eyes searching our faces to see how we’ll react.

“Good boy, Padfoot,” James says. “For that, you get a treat.” 

I nod. “Watch us,” I tell Sirius as, still holding his hand, I move to the bed and drop onto my knees beside James. James reaches for me and we snog deep and dirty, Sirius’s bare leg trapped between our thighs. I rock into James until he moves his free hand to my knickers, his big fingers warm against the soaked silk at my crotch. I hum in his mouth as he slips his hand inside and fingers me open, his hand sending vibrations from my clit up my spine to the back of my skull.

Sirius bites back a curse and whines in his throat.

“Such a good boy, Padfoot,” James mumbles, his mouth all over mine, his fingers teasing their way inside me. “Good dog. Good dog.” 

I ride up the slope fast and wild, bucking into the curve of James’s palm while his fingers thrust into my cunt and Sirius’s sex-heavy voice murmurs _fuck_ in the background, the word turned over and over in his mouth like a bone. “Fuck. Fuck.” He sucks it and worries it and tastes it as he watches his best friend get me off. I come fast and sweet with the meat of James’s hand hard against my clit. I come squeezing Sirius’s hand, with Sirius’s _fuck_ in our ears. 

When I've caught my breath I rest my head on James’s shoulder, breathing in the velvety scent of our sex on his skin. 

James stops kissing my head, spits my hair free of his mouth. “You wanna lie next to Sirius now?” he asks me. 

“Please, Lils,” Sirius says, rocking his hips uselessly against the air. His cock must be aching, flushed so dark with being edged that he might go off any moment. “Come down here and let me be good for you.” 

_Let_ him? Half of me wants to smack Sirius for being such a manipulative little fuck, because I’m not _letting_ Sirius be good, I’m _making_ him. But I do love it when he begs. And as I mentioned earlier, I want to suck on his neck. 

“Yeah,” I tell them both, and lie on my side next to Sirius, my body still alight with my orgasm.

“Show James what you’re going to give him,” I prompt. 

Sirius draws up his legs, wriggling a bit. He’s got a lovely hole, a pucker so sweet you can practically hear it saying “kiss me.” I reach down and caress him there, the wrinkled skin slick and flexing beneath my finger. 

“You ready?” I ask James. 

James grins, looking a little crazed himself. “Babe, I’ve been ready since before dinner.” He pushes his hair out of his eyes and leans over us, one hand coming down to brace himself against the mattress, the other hand on his prick, lining up but waiting for my go-ahead. 

I push myself up on one elbow so I can watch both their faces. “Go on then,” I say, “seeing as Sirius has been such a good dog.” 

“Too right I ha—” Sirius starts, but James shuts him up with cock, pressing slick and sure and then inside. Sirius’s words are lost in a hiss, his face crumpled by that deep ache of pleasure I know so well, the delicious intrusion of James Potter’s cock splitting you open. 

James begins fucking. Slow, already deep. Sirius moans and lifts his legs higher. He loves to be fucked, our pup. If he’s up for more after James is through with him, I’ll have a go myself. 

“You like that?” I ask him.

“Fuck, yeah.” He opens his eyes and adds, a little breathlessly, “About bloody fucking time, you sadist.”

I pinch his nipple hard. “None of that barking,” I say. 

James starts to laugh, a soft whoosh of breath that blows warm and sweet over my face, smelling of gillyweed and wine and kisses. 

“Sirius,” I say, rolling his nipple between my thumb and finger. “I’m going to mark you while James fucks you.”

His cheeks flush pink, his magic hums under my fingers, vibrating with want. 

“Speak, Padfoot.” 

Sirius groans, his untouched cock bouncing on his belly, and grips my hand harder. “Please mark me,” he says, eyes fluttering back in his head. “Go on. You gonna piss on me?”

It’s an intriguing idea, but I don’t love the idea of it getting on the bed. Repeated Scourgifys toughen up a mattress and this one’s brand new. 

“No,” I say, “I’m gonna mess up your pretty, pretty skin.” 

“Wreck me,” Sirius says, and James and I both laugh then, because together we are an excellent wrecking crew. 

James picks up the pace, his thighs slapping against Sirus’s. He rocks him, rocks the entire bed. I drape my foot over James’s calf, pressing into him as he fucks, joining his motion. Then I cup Sirius’s cheek in my hand, tilting his head back so I can see the simple leather choker he wears around his neck. A collar, to those in the know. I hook my finger under the band and give a gentle tug. Sirius complies, arching his neck up toward me to expose the elegant line of his pale throat. I want the softest part, beyond and below the shave line, where his skin’s as smooth as a girl’s. I suck him first above the collar, just below his ear, leaving a bud-shaped bruise when I pull away. Then another below the collar, at the side of his neck. Another over his Adam’s apple. Sirius whines. Another—I’m making a bouquet of unfurled lilies. 

Tomorrow they will bloom, turning from fuchsia to purple, and Sirus will wear them home and show them off to Remus, who will make tsking noises and then tell me privately later how glad he is that James and I are taking Padfoot out for exercise too, as it were. Sirius is a bit much for one man, especially when that man is a werewolf out of commission after a full moon. Besides, Remus knows we’ll take good care of his mate. The best care, because Sirius is our dog too. When the lilies on his throat finally begin to change from purple to yellow-brown, Remus will insist on their removal. Sirius will insist on flowers from Remus as a replacement. I’m not entirely sure how that part goes between them, but soon enough after that it will be our turn again.

Now James’s breath comes faster against my temple and his arm goes around me, holding me against Sirius as he fucks him. James makes love the way he does everything, all of himself poured into it. The bed rocks harder. 

“More,” Sirius says, throwing his head back. “More, Prongs. Lils. Oh God, more.” 

I wreck his throat, arrange a bouquet of my mouth-marks in the vase of his collar bones. He’s gripping my hand so hard I feel his heartbeat in my fingertips. 

“Fuck, Prongs, fuck. Please, now. Merlin, _now._ ” 

It’s time. He’s been so good, waited and waited for our command, his whole being trembling in the struggle between desire and restraint. Now, a look passing between us, James and I release Sirius’s hands. 

“Touch yourself,” I command, making the wishes of dog and master one and the same. 

But Sirius surprises me. He recaptures my hand and brings it to his cock.

“You do it,” he pants. “Want you to be the one to make me come.” 

And _that’s_ my boy. Deep down, he wants so badly to please us. And this pleases me so much: to wrap my hand around his cock and make him my dog. The power of it zings in my clit like a throatful of Firewhisky. I’ll get off again from this. I set a buzzing charm on my fingers and rock myself, my hand on Sirius’s cock and my eyes on his face, and my husband loving him so well the headboard shakes the wall. 

“Come, Padfoot,” James urges, and Padfoot does. Sirius keeps his human form, but his release is animal in its abandon. His body tenses, jerks; his cock spurts and his voice goes animal too, rising high in his throat as he rides out his orgasm in my hand, his shoulders coming up off the bed as his body jerks under me. He’s coming all over his stomach, all over my hand, James pounding into him until he falls back on the bed, boneless and trembling.

Sirius can’t take being fucked once he’s come, so James pulls out, his lovely cock slick-dark and heavy and so close. 

“Together,” I tell James, and I reach out and finger his hard high bollocks whilst he wanks, whilst I grind against Sirius’s hip. 

“Come on me, Lils,” Sirius murmurs, shifting his leg between my thighs, and I’m so close, all the naked skin and pressure smoking me like gillyweed, and he’s holding me against him, and James is saying my name too. 

“Now,” I gasp finally and let go. I’m coming for both of them, for all of us. For myself, made vast in magic and love. I come on the sharp birdbone of his hip, my mouth on the mess I’ve made of his throat. Above us James cries out and spurts all over Sirius’s belly, his head thrown back as his hips shake and his cock pulses. 

“Lily. Baby. Oh, _Merlin_.” James falls on top of Sirius and we roll into a tangle of arms and legs, glued together with spunk and blown-out smiles. Sirius nuzzles into my hair, and then James is there too, whispering that he loves me, loves us. Loves this. 

We all do.

Every family needs a dog—and Sirius is ours. Every dog needs a family—and now that we’re his, I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

>  _Jaanu:_ Hindi term of endearment, used across many Indian languages. 
> 
> _Panch Koti Nigraha:_ Literally, “five-point restraint” in Sanskrit. The spell James casts is Indian in origin, and Sanskrit (like Latin) is a dead Classical Language from which many modern languages are derived. 
> 
> Thanks to shaggydogstail for the irresistible prompt, and to the mods for this fest. Thanks to gracerene for the amazing beta job, alxhomora for the Sanskrit and Hindi expressions, kit for the final britpick, and of course to lefthandofglory for the dramaturgy. Any remaining mistakes are mine.


End file.
